Duel: Terror Stories

by Richard Matheson

  “Tell me about our baby,” he said, trying to drive away the fear. “Was it a boy or a girl?”

  She was silent.

  “Mary?”

  “You don’t know? No, of course you don’t.”

  “Know what?”

  “I can’t tell you about our child.”

  “Why?”

  “I died when it was born.”

  He tried to speak but the words shattered in his throat. Finally he could ask, “Because I didn’t return?”

  “Yes,” she replied softly. “I had no right to. But I didn’t want to live without you.”

  “And they refuse to let me go back,” he said bitterly. Then he ran his fingers through her thick hair and kissed her. He looked into her face. “Listen,” he said, “I’m going to return.”

  “You can’t change what’s done.”

  “If I come back,” he said, “it isn’t done. I can change it.”

  She looked at him strangely. “Is it possible—” she began, and her words died in a groan. “No, no, it can’t be!”

  “Yes!” he said, “It is poss—” He stopped abruptly, his heart lurching wildly. She had been speaking of something else.

  Under his fingers her left arm was disappearing. The flesh seemed to be dissolving, leaving her arm rotted and shapeless.

  He gasped in horror. Terrified, she looked down at her hands. They were falling apart, bits of flesh spiraling away like slender streamers of white smoke.

  “No!” she cried. “Don’t let it happen!”

  “Mary!”

  She tried to take his hands but she had none herself. Quickly she bent over and kissed him. Her lips were cold and shaking.

  “So soon,” she sobbed. “Oh, go away! Don’t watch me, Robert! Please don’t watch me!” Then she started up, crying out, “Oh, my dear, I had hoped for—”

  The rest was lost in a soft, guttural bubbling. Her throat was beginning to disintegrate.

  Wade leaped up and tried to embrace her to hold back the horror, but his clutch only seemed to hasten the dissolution. The sound of her breaking down became a terrible hiss.

  He staggered back with a shriek, holding his hands before him as though to ward off the awful sight.

  Her body was breaking apart in chunks. The chunks split into fizzing particles which dissolved in the air. Her hands and arms were gone. The shoulders started to disappear. Her feet and legs burst apart and the swirls of gaseous flesh spun up into the air.

  Wade crashed into the wall, his shaking hands over his face. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. Drawing his fingers down, he watched in a sort of palsied fascination.

  Now her chest and shoulders were going. Her chin and lower face were flowing into an amorphous cloud of flesh that gyrated like wind-blown snow.

  Last to go were her eyes. Alone, hanging on a veil of gray wall, they burned into his. In his mind came the last message from her living mind: “Goodbye, my darling. I shall always love you.”

  He was alone.

  His mouth hung open, and his eyes were circles of dumb unbelief. For long minutes he stood there, shivering helplessly, looking hopefully—hopelessly—around the room. There was nothing, not the least sensory trace of her passing.

  He tried to walk to the couch, but his legs were useless blocks of wood. And all at once the floor seemed to fly up into his face.

  White pain gave way to a sluggish black current that claimed his mind.

  Clemolk was sitting in the chair.

  “I’m sorry you took it so badly,” he said.

  Wade said nothing, his gaze never leaving the historian’s face. Heat rose in his body, his muscles twitched.

  “We could probably re-form her again,” Clemolk said carelessly, “but her body would last an even shorter period the second time. Besides we haven’t the—”

  “What do you want?”

  “I thought we might talk some more about 1975 while there’s—”

  “You thought that, did you!” Wade threw himself into a sitting position, eyes bright with crazed fury. “You keep me prisoner, you torture me with the ghost of my wife. Now you want to talk!”

  He jolted to his feet, fingers bent into arcs of taut flesh.

  Clemolk stood up, too, and reached into his robe pocket. The very casualness of the move further enraged Wade. When the historian drew out the plastic case, Wade knocked it to the floor with a snarl.

  “Stop this,” Clemolk said mildly, his visage still unruffled.

  “I’m going back,” roared Wade. “I’m going back and you’re not stopping me!”

  “I’m not stopping you,” said Clemolk, the first signs of peevishness sounding in his voice. “You’re stopping yourself. I’ve told you. You should have considered what you were doing before entering your time-chamber. And, as for your Mary—”

  The sound of her name pronounced with such dispassionate smugness broke the floodgates of Wade’s fury. His hand shot out and fastened around Clemolk’s thin ivory column of neck.

  “Stop,” Clemolk said, his voice cracking. “You can’t go back. I tell you—”

  His fish eyes were popping and blurred. A gurgle of delicate protest filled his throat as his frail hands fumbled at Wade’s clutching fingers. A moment later the historian’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Wade released his fingers and put Clemolk down on the couch.

  He ran to the door, his mind filled with conflicting plans. The door wouldn’t open. He pushed it, threw his weight against it, tried to dig his nails along its edge to pull it open. It was tightly shut. He stepped back, his face contorted with hopeless frenzy.

  Of course!

  He sprang to Clemolk’s inert body, reached in the robe pocket, and drew out the small control board. It had no connections in the robe. Wade pushed a button. The great sign was above him: HISTORY IS LIVING. With an impatient gasp, Wade pushed another, still another. He heard his voice.

  “ … The governmental system was based on the existence of three branches, two of which were supposedly subject to popular vote … .”

  He pushed another button—and yet another.

  The door seemed to draw a heavy breath and opened noiselessly. Wade ran to it and through. It closed behind him.

  Now to find the machine lab. What if the students were there? He had to risk it.

  He raced down the padded hallway, looking for the tube door. It was a nightmare of running. Back and forth he rushed frantically, muttering to himself. He stopped and forced himself back, pushing buttons as he went, ignoring sounds and sights around him—the fading walls, the speaking dead. He almost missed the tube door as he passed it. Its outline blended with the wall.

  “Stop!”

  He heard the weak cry behind him and glanced hurriedly over his shoulder. Clemolk, stumbling along the hall, waving him down. He must have recovered and got out while Wade was carrying on his desperate search.

  Wade entered the tube quickly, and the door slid shut. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the chamber rush through its tunnel. Something made him turn around. He gasped at the sight of the uniformed man who sat on the bench facing him. In the man’s hand was a dull black tube that pointed straight at Wade’s chest.

  “Sit down,” said the man.

  Defeated, Wade slumped down in a dejected heap. Mary. The name was a broken lament in his mind.

  “Why do you re-forms get so excited?” the man asked. “Why do you? Answer me that?”

  Wade looked up, a spark of hope igniting in him. The man thought—

  “I—expected to go soon,” Wade said hurriedly. “In a matter of minutes. I wanted to get down to the machine lab.”

  “Why there, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I heard there was a time-chamber there,” Wade said anxiously. “I thought—”

  “Thought you’d use it?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I want to go back to my own time. I’m lonely.”

  “Haven’t you been told?” asked the man.


  “Told what?”

  The tube sighed to a halt. Wade started up. The man waved his weapon and Wade sank down again. Had they passed it? “As soon as your re-formed body returns to air,” the man was saying, “your psychic force returns to the original moment of death—hrumph—separation from the body I mean.”

  Wade was distracted by nervous fear. “What?” he asked vaguely, looking around.

  “Personal force, personal force,” bumbled the man. “At the moment it leaves your re-formed body, it will return to the moment you originally—uh—died. In your case that would be—when?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The man shrugged. “No matter, no matter. Take my word for it. You’ll soon be back in your own time.”

  “What about the machine lab?” Wade asked again.

  “Next stop,” said the man.

  “Can we go there, I mean?”

  “Oh,” grumbled the man, “I suppose I could drop in and take a look at it. Think they’d let me know. Never any cooperation with the military. Invariably—” His voice trailed off. “No,” he resumed. “On second thought, I’m in a hurry.”

  Wade watched the man lower his weapon. He clenched his teeth and braced himself to lunge.

  “Well,” said the man, “on third thought …”

  Closing his eyes, Wade slumped back and exhaled a long shuddering breath through his pale lips.

  It was still intact, its gleaming metal reflecting the tiers of bright overhead lights—and the circular door was open.

  There was only one student in the lab. He was sitting at a bench. He looked up as they entered.

  “Can I help you, Commander?” he asked.

  “No need. No need,” said the officer in an annoyed voice. “The re-form and myself are here to see the time-chamber.” He waved toward the platform. “That it?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” said the student, looking at Wade. Wade averted his face. He couldn’t tell whether the student was one of the four who had been there before. They all looked alike. The student went back to his work.

  Wade and the Commander stepped up on the platform. The Commander peered into the interior of the sphere.

  “Well,” he mused, “who brought it here, I’d like to know.”

  “I don’t know,” Wade answered. “I’ve never seen one.”

  “And you thought you could use it!” The Commander laughed.

  Wade glanced around nervously to make sure the student wasn’t watching. Turning back, he scanned the sphere rapidly and saw that it wasn’t fastened in any way. He started as a loud buzzer sounded and looking around quickly, saw the student push a button on the wall. He tightened in fear.

  On a small teleview screen built into the wall, Clemolk’s face had appeared. Wade couldn’t hear the historian’s voice but his face showed excitement at last.

  Wade spun back, facing the chamber, and asked, “Think I could see what it’s like inside?”

  “No, no,” said the commander. “You’ll play tricks.”

  “I won’t,” he said, “I’ll just—”

  “Commander!” cried the student.

  The Commander turned. Wade gave him a shove, and the corpulent officer staggered forward, his arms flailing the air for balance, and a look of astonished outrage on his face.

  Wade dove into the time chamber, cracking his knees on the metal deck, and scrambled around.

  The student rushed toward the sphere, pointing one of those dull black tubes ahead of him.

  Wade grabbed the heavy door and with a grunt of effort pulled it shut. The heavy circle of metal grated into place, cutting off a flash of blue flame that was directed at him. Wade spun the wheel around feverishly until the door was securely fixed.

  They would be cutting the chamber open any moment.

  His eyes swept over the dials as his fingers worked on the strap buckles. He saw that the main dial was still set at five hundred years and reaching over, flipped it to reverse position.

  Everything seemed ready. He had to take a chance that it was. There was no time to check. Already a deadly cutting flame might be directed at the metal globe.

  The straps were fastened. Wade braced himself and threw the main switch. Nothing happened. A cry of mortal terror broke through his lips. His eyes darted around. His fingers shook over the control board as he tested the connections.

  A plug was loose. Grabbing it with both hands to steady it, he slid it into its socket. At once the chamber began to vibrate. The high screech of its mechanism was music to him.

  The universe poured by again, the black night washing over him like ocean waves. This time he didn’t lose consciousness.

  He was secure.

  The chamber stopped vibrating. The silence was almost deafening. Wade sat breathlessly in the semidarkness, gasping in air. Then he grabbed the wheel and turned it quickly. He kicked open the door and jumped down into the apparatus lab of Fort College and looked around, hungry for the sight of familiar things.

  The lab was empty. One wall light shone down bleakly in the silence, casting great shadows of machines, sending his own shadow leaping up the walls. He touched benches, stools, gauges, machines, anything, just to convince himself that he was back.

  “It’s real.” He said it over and over.

  An overpowering weakness of relief fell over him a mantle. He leaned against the chamber. Here and there he saw black marks on the metal, and pieces of it were hanging loose. He felt almost a love for it. Even partly destroyed it had gotten him back.

  Suddenly he looked at the clock. Two in the morning … . Mary … . He had to get home. Quickly, quickly.

  The door was locked. He fumbled for keys, got the door open and rushed down the hall. The building was deserted. He reached the front door, unlocked it, remembered to lock it behind him, although he was shaking with excitement.

  He tried to walk, but he kept breaking into a run, and his mind raced ahead in anticipation. He was on the porch, through the doorway, rushing up to the bedroom … . Mary, Mary, he was calling … . He was bursting through the doorway … . She was standing by the window. She whirled, saw him, a look of glorious happiness crossed her face. She cried out in tearful joy … . They were holding each other, kissing; together, together.

  “Mary,” he murmured in a choked-up voice as, once more, he began running.

  The tall black Social Sciences Building was behind him. Now the campus was behind him, and he was running happily down University Avenue.

  The street lights seemed to waver before him. His chest heaved with shuddering breaths. A burning ache stabbed at his side. His mouth fell open. Exhausted, he was forced to slow down to a walk. He gasped in air, started to run again.

  Only two more blocks.

  Ahead, the dark outline of his home stood out against the sky. There was a light in the living room. She was awake. She hadn’t given up!

  His heart flew out to her. The desire for her warm arms was almost more than he could bear.

  He felt tired. He slowed down, felt his limbs trembling violently. Excitement. His body ached. He felt numb.

  He was on their walk. The front door was open. Through the screen door, he could see the stairs to the second floor. He paused, his eyes glittering with a sick hunger.

  “Home,” he muttered.

  He staggered up the path, up the porch steps. Shooting pains wracked his body. His head felt as though it would explode.

  He pulled open the screen door and lurched to the living room arch.

  John Randall’s wife was sleeping on the couch.

  There was no time to talk. He wanted Mary. He turned and stumbled to the stairs. He started up.

  He tripped, almost fell. He groped for the banister with his right hand. A scream gurgled up and died in his throat. The hand was dissolving in air. His mouth fell open as the horror struck him.

  “No!” He tried to scream it but only a mocking wheeze escaped his lips.

  He struggled up. The disintegration was g
oing on faster. His hands. His wrists. They were flying apart. He felt as though he had been thrown into a vat of burning acid.

  His mind twisted over itself as he tried to understand. And all the while he kept dragging himself up the stairs, now on his ankles, now on his knees, the corroded remnants of his disappearing legs.

  Then he knew all of it. Why the chamber door was locked. Why they wouldn’t let him see his own corpse. Why his body had lasted so long. It was because he had reached 2475 alive and then had died. Now he had to return to that year. He could not be with her even in death.

  “Mary!”

  He tried to scream for her. She had to know. But no sound came. He felt pieces of his throat falling out. Somehow he had to reach her, let her know that he had come back.

  He reached the top of the landing and through the open door of their room saw her lying on the bed, sleeping in exhausted sorrow.

  He called. No sound. Tears of rage poured from his anguished eyes. Now he was at the door, trying to force himself into the room.

  There’d be no life for me without you.

  Her remembered words tortured him. His crying was like a gentle bubbling of lava.

  Now he was almost gone. The last of him poured over the rug like a morning mist, the blackness of his eyes like dark shiny beads in a swirling fog.

  “Mary, Mary—” he could only think it now “—how very much I love you.”

  She didn’t awaken.

  He willed himself closer and drank in the fleeting sight of her. A massive despair weighed on his mind. A faint groan fluttered over his wraith.

  Then, the woman, smiling in her uneasy sleep, was alone in the room except for two haunted eyes which hung suspended for a moment and then were gone; like tiny worlds that flare up in birth and, in the same moment, die.

  BROTHER TO THE MACHINE

  HE STEPPED INTO THE SUNLIGHT AND WALKED among the people. His feet carried him away from the black tube depths. The distant roar of underground machinery left his brain to be replaced by myriad whispers of the city.

  Now he was walking the main street. Men of flesh and men of steel passed him by, coming and going. His legs moved slowly and his footsteps were lost in a thousand footsteps.